“Ladies.” Hudson nodded.
He stepped into the corridor, his hands full of correspondence and his expression thunderous. Augusta, caught mid-step, collided with him squarely and would have fallen on the floor if he had not dropped the letters and seized her by the upper arms.
There was a moment—one of those strange, suspended instants—when she felt nothing but his hands on her, strong and hot even through the layers of wool and muslin. Their faces were only inches apart. His eyes were the cold blue of a winter sky, and they pinned her as thoroughly as his grip.
Cassie, ever the strategist, immediately let go and bolted up the stairs. “I’ll wash and change!” she shouted over her shoulder, her boots pounding in retreat.
Hudson’s jaw worked as he looked after his sister, but his hands did not release Augusta’s arms.
“Explain,” he ordered, voice tight with suppressed fury. “Now.”
“I was teaching her about trees,” Augusta said. “And gravity.”
His gaze dropped to her skirts, which were streaked with green and brown. “You took her climbing.”
“I did not take her,” Augusta countered. “She went of her own accord. I merely pointed out the best branch.”
His grip tightened. “You let her endanger herself for a whim.”
“She was perfectly safe,” Augusta said, aware of her pulse racing in her throat and sure he could feel it. “I was watching the entire time. She is quite alright.”
Hudson exhaled through his nose irritably. “Do you know how many governesses she’s chased off in the past two years?Three. Do you know why?”
“Because they tried to make her into something she isn’t,” Augusta said, not bothering to soften it.
He released her, but only to take a half-step back, still blocking the corridor. “You are not like the others,” he said, echoingCassie’s words from earlier. “You are more—” He broke off, shaking his head. “More reckless. Or perhaps just more foolish.”
They stood there, the words hanging between them like a third presence in the corridor.
Augusta was suddenly acutely aware of her own breathing, of the way her chest rose and fell, of the faint tremor in her hands. She wanted…
She did not know what she wanted, only that it was dangerous and intoxicating and nothing to do with employment contracts or the strictures of the ton.
Hudson seemed to feel it, too. His hand came up, as if to brush a loose strand of hair from her cheek, but stopped just short, his fingers hovering in the air.
Then, from somewhere above, Cassie’s voice rang out. “Miss Norton? Are you coming?”
The spell broke.
Hudson stepped back, dragging a hand through his hair. “You will not encourage her to climb again,” he said, the words flat but not as sharp as before.
Augusta’s lips curved. “I can’t promise that, Your Grace. But I will promise to keep her safe.”
He looked at her, really looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “You are a most unusual governess, Miss Norton.”
“Perhaps I am.”
He wanted to say something else. She could see it in the way his mouth pressed into a thin line, in the way his hands flexed at his sides. But the moment was gone, and he turned, stooping to collect the spilled letters from the flagstones.
Augusta stood there for a moment, her heart still pounding, then turned and took the stairs two at a time, her skirts flying.
Chapter Seven
The Nightingale was bustling with activity and voices. The air stank of lamp oil and damp wool, thick with the bitter tang of smoke.
Hudson stepped out of his carriage into the midnight hush, his boots striking the stones with a confidence that brooked no resistance. A footman had braved the drizzle to lower the step, but Hudson ignored the offer and landed lightly, surveying the entrance with the wary precision of a soldier entering a contested garrison.
He lingered for a moment under the overhang, flicked a raindrop from his sleeve, and with a single brisk gesture, smoothed a rogue lock of golden-brown hair back into order. His hand rested for a heartbeat on the head of his cane before he pushed inside.
